


Screwed up and broken and just right

by Ernmark (M_Moonshade)



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: M/M, Writing Prompt, also indulging my love of abandoned architecture, because reasons, kissing in a storm, only the only storms we've seen so far in the show are sandstorms, so kissing during a sandstorm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8230124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/Ernmark
Summary: Juno and Nureyev are on the run when they take shelter in the one place where no one will ever find them: Old Town during a sandstorm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a writing prompt, because this podcast needs more fics.
> 
> TypeHere452 requested a kiss during a storm.

“Oh, Juno, you really take me to all the nicest places,” Nureyev said flatly, giving a rabbit’s most recent meal a wide berth so as not to get any on his shoes. Damn things probably cost more than my car. 

“I grew up here, you know,” I snapped back between the wailing lockdown sirens. “If you don’t like it, the exit’s that way.”

I jerked my head toward the main road, but I didn’t need to point him in the right direction. All he had to do was follow the sounds of honking horns and gunshots as traffic on the only road out of here fossilized into gridlock. 

The people who were chasing us wouldn’t be able to get into Old Town until after the sandstorm cleared, and even then they’d have to search through the chaos of post-storm congestion. I’d made a living in the early days finding people, and so I knew better than most that this was where you went to disappear. 

Of course, that just meant we were trapped in my childhood hellhole. They might not be able to find us in here, but all they needed to do was wait at the entrances and exits and wait for us to leave. That was a problem for another day. Right now, we needed a chance to rest and regroup, and maybe even not die in the meantime. 

I led Nureyev through tenements so far past condemned that even squatters wouldn’t look at them twice, up staircases that needed convincing not to fall apart on our way up. They made for a nice alarm: anybody came up here after us, and we’d be able to feel the whole building shaking before we heard the snapping ply-board.

 We figured out the lay of the room, mapping which boards squeaked and which ones were rotted through and which ones were safe to step on, and then settled on a crossbeam for a long-overdue rest. It wasn’t a very wide crossbeam. Six inches in either direction, the wood was so weak that if you stepped down you’d find your foot breaking through the floor three stories down. There were only a few feet to go in either direction, so I settled next to Nureyev.

He hummed. “Quite a cozy little arrangement.” 

“Smart is more like it,” I muttered. “Anybody comes in here after us, and we’ll be scraping them off the ground floor.”

“I appreciate the precaution. And the view. I must say, I haven’t witnessed a sandstorm before from such a flattering angle.”

The window in front of us hadn’t had glass panes for at least two decades, and the crumbling wall showed signs of wear from the last few times the shields had crumpled and allowed the elements to polish Old Town to a matte finish. This apartment building stood just at the edge of town, so close to the shield that we could see it crackling under the gale. If it broke, we’d be in for a painful wake-up call. Until then, we got a front-row seat to a kaleidoscopic show of shifting sand and shimmering electricity. 

“It really is something,” I murmured. I leaned more heavily one one hand, trying to ignore the fact that it brought me closer to Nureyev and his damned cologne. The storm was powerful and overwhelming and lethal, but right now its force was keeping us safe. That and this death-trap apartment building and a used-tissue weather shield and a thief who by all rights could kill me right now, assuming he didn’t throw me to the homicidal goons who were after us.

The whole situation was screwed up and broken, but somehow it all came together just right. 

So I didn’t pull away when Nureyev’s hand tipped my chin up to face him. I didn’t stop him when he leaned in to kiss me.

We might die in the morning, and I would worry about that when it came. I inhaled a lungful of his cologne and pulled him closer. 


End file.
